Talking with Your Hands
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Sometimes a good communication tech needs to be able to speaking with something other than his mouth. a Working Stiffs story


I've always had the gift of language. My granny, it was rumored could talk to animals and plants. She was an old Appalachian woman. I even heard her referred to as Witch woman. When I think of her, smelling of sage and chamomile, cinnamon and lavender, it doesn't project the image of a witch to me, but perhaps I'm too close to the source.

What I do know is that my mother made her escape from the mountains at an early age and had to good fortune to run into my father. He settled the two of them into a comfortable, if not fancy, tenement and that's where I grew up, amid a rich culture of mixed cultures and races. By the time I started attending PS 36, I was already jabbing gin half a dozen different languages. They were the tongues of my friends, Russian, Puerto Rican, Greek, Asian - I picked up language the way some people picked up a tan. They just happened to me.

It took a little longer to realize that I could just look at someone and know how they were feeling, just from the glow around them. Granny said it was their aura I was seeing. You want to clear a room fast, you start talking about such things. I learned to keep that to myself. But as I grew, it became easier and easier to just read people by the colors surrounding them. It used to make my friends nervous, because I knew who was lying and who was being truthful. And who was really sick and who was just faking it. No one could pull anything over on me and for some reason my friends didn't care much for that.

And when I was about fifteen, something else happened. I learned that I could communicate with more than my voice, but also with my hands. You might be thinking about sign language and certainly, you wouldn't be wrong, but I talk a different way, I have a healing touch. I discovered it quite by accident when a friend of mine had a bad headache. I discovered by just massaging her scalp, I could make the headache go away. This wasn't an overnight discover, mind you, but came to me gradually.

It wasn't surprising that UNCLE tracked me down after I graduated with a BA in languages under my belt. I was slotted into the Communication Sections and there I sat, happily surrounded by a dozen people just like me, able to converse in a dozen languages, equally gifted, except for one thing.

I can always tell when someone needs my help and I offer it, but I never force it. Some can't accept it as offered, seeing it as a cheap come on or some sort of trick. Others can't live without me, but always I make them swear to secrecy.

I was finished up translating the soccer scores for our Brazilian office when I heard the door open and Solo and Kuryakin came in. It was the middle of the afternoon and I was pretty much the only one hanging around this part of the communication section. Some of my co workers were on break, others were being briefed, and some were watching or reading the news in our library. Rarely are there more than four of us in the room at one time. It got too noisy otherwise. That made this one of the quietest places in all of headquarters around this time of day.

Solo usually has this aura that drifts between yellow and orange. Orange is a color that indicates vigor and good health, with lots of energy and stamina, an adventurous sort who's courageous and has an outgoing nature. Yellow is the color of inspiration, intelligence, and action. Yellow people are usually creative, playful, optimistic, and easy-going. Anyone who knows Napoleon Solo knows he's all these things and more.

His partner, well, Kuryakin is a whole different ball of wax. He tends to jump from red to blue and back at a moment's notice and that's on a good day. Watching his aura was often like watching a chromatic tennis match. Safe enough to say, I don't think most of us would want to spend much time in his head, not with the samba his aura pounded out.

Depending upon the shade of red, it can mean someone who's realistic and active, with a strong will-power, and survival-oriented all the way up to powerful, energetic, competitive, sexual, and passionate Again; these aren't far off to anyone who's at least had some dealing with Kuryakin. Blue on the other hand usually indicates someone who's cool, calm, and collected, but in Mr. Kuryakin's case, his blue usually shows up as this dark blue, indicating a fear of the future and of self-expression or of facing the truth. It's this color that puzzles me as he never struck me as a man afraid of anything.

So today they walk in and Solo is glowing red, with flashes of bright pink, he's a happy camper. That usually means he's in a new relationship or at least thinking about starting a new one. It indicates compassion, love and a sense of tenderness. Some lady is going to be extremely well loved tonight.

Kuryakin, oh, his aura is scary, black and dark gray. Black usually means some long term inability to forgive oneself for something or it means you don't feel well. Add that to the gray, another sign of ill health or pain, that's practically enveloping his head and even a blind man could see it. He's still wearing a bandage on his forehead and the way he's hunching his head down as close to his body as he can tells me he's got a wailing headache. I could help him, but I wondered what my reception would be if I tried.

"Are you sure we need to do this now?" Solo snuck a glance at his watch and I smiled. He's late for an appointment. Little snaps of orange, sexual energy, I guessed, were dancing all around him.

"Go, Napoleon. You're no help to me like this." Kuryakin gestured him away and I could see both Solo's excitement, but also his hesitance. Kuryakin's gray evolved into a deep green, the feeling of jealousy or resentment. Obviously they had gone after the same woman and Solo had won.

Solo looked at him, then the door and grinned. "Okay, if you're sure. I'll catch you in the morning." And he was gone, just like that.

"Mr. Hacker, is there a desk I can procure for the time being?" Kuryakin's voice was tight.

"Certainly, Mr. Kuryakin, you can use my desk. I've just a couple more things to finish up and I'll be out of your way."

I watched him wearily sink down into a chair and yank down at his tie, loosening it. One handed, he undid the top button of his shirt, while the other hand began to spread out the files he's been carrying. I hadn't even seen them until now. He was back to dark gray again and suddenly I couldn't stand it. I mean the worse he could do would be to tell me to get lost.

"I can help you," I said and he looked over at him, a pair of black glass perched on his nose. From the way he was frowning, I could tell he was really having to work at just functioning at this point.

"I'm sorry, but these are classified. I appreciate you offer though."

"I didn't mean with the files, I meant with your headache."

He gave me a strange look. "How did you know about my headache?"

"Your aura told me." I decided to go for broke.

"My… my what?"

"Your aura. We all have these bands of color that surround us. Most people can't or won't see them, but some of us can."

"I see." Skepticism is rolling around him in waves of gray again, but I can also see flashes of silver, which at least means he's not totally turned off to the idea. "And my aura tells you I have a headache."

"Well, that and the way you keep massaging your temples and frowning." I gave him a little bit of familiar ground on which to stand. "I can sometimes help with headaches. Would you like me to try?"

"At this point, I'm almost ready to try anything. What is involved?" He'd pulled his glasses off to study me intently, as if trying to read my aura and I smiled. It didn't work that way, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

"You just have to sit there and close your eyes." The black was back with swirls of dark red, anger, in it. He thought I was trying for an end run to see those files. I couldn't even begin to guess what was in them. Nor did I care. "Or not, if that makes you feel uncomfortable."

"All right." He closed the files and settled his clasped hands upon them, obviously protecting them from me.

I walked up behind him and then remembered a bit of wisdom that my boss had imparted to all of us when we started. He'd pointed to a missing tooth and said to never touch a Section Two or Three unless you told them you were going to beforehand. "I need to touch you." There was a sharp nod and I took a deep breath.

Now, I don't know how or why this works, but it does. Maybe it has its basis in acupuncture or pressure points; it's a mystery to me. I touched his shoulders; they were rock hard and slid my hands up his neck and into his hair. I bunched my fists, pulling lightly at the hair base. He started to move away. "No, just sit still, please." I said and adjusted my hands just a little and repeated the process. And again and again until the gray ebbed away and was replaced by a nice royal blue. That was better. I worked my hands down his neck and back to his shoulders. They were still hard, but it wasn't from tension any longer.

"Better?"

"That's incredible." His voice was soft, as if he was afraid that by speaking his headache would suddenly return.

"Your headache won't be back, at least not for another day or so.

"How did you…?"

"I have no idea, I truly don't." I kept working his neck, for no reason other than I wanted to. I like touching people, so sue me. He wasn't resisting me, there were even little snaps of green popping through the blue. That was interesting.

"How do I repay you?"

"By not mentioning this to anyone. You can imagine what people would say if they found out. People, they treat you strangely when they think you're different from them. I don't mind offering it, but I hate having it demanded from me."

"I think I can appreciate that."

Then the door opened and Solo came walking back in, talking. "Illya I was just thinking…" He trailed off as both of us sort of put distance between us, like we'd been doing something untoward or something. Of course, with his hair all askew and his shirt opened, it could have looked like we were in the middle of a necking session. I grinned at the thought and Solo's eyes narrowed. His happy red aura slammed into a solid muddied almost blood red. He was not happy with what he saw and that was sort of confusing.

"Yes, Napoleon, what did you need?" Kuryakin's voice was even, his aura still that nice royal blue.

"Nothing, I changed my mind." And on that, Solo turned and stormed out. Kuryakin started to rise, but I shook my head.

"That would be unwise. He's not very happy right now."

"And do you know why?"

"Not really… he's… jealous?" I shook my head, confused. It was the first time an aura had let me down or perhaps it indicated a changed interpretation.

Kuryakin nodded and stood up, gathering the folders up again. "You should do something more with your gift."

"I should, but I won't. If Section One found out, they'd have me reading people night and day. My gift would become my burden and I don't want that." And he was gone. I knew instinctively that he'd not mention it to anyone.

The next time I saw the pair, it was in the canteen. I was getting some coffee for Janine and myself and I spotted them at a table in the corner. Solo was orange today and Kuryakin, his usual ping pong match of red and blue, but strangely enough, there was this near fog bank of white surrounding them with bits of silver and gold meandering through it. Now that was different.

You see, white often represents a new, not yet designated energy in the aura and the achievement of some inner truth. Gold is the color of enlightenment and you see it, it means that the person is being guided by their highest good. Gold means protection, wisdom, and an inner awareness. And Silver is the color of abundance, both spiritual and physical. Lots of bright silver can reflect to plenty of money or the discovery of something deeply, almost spiritually moving. Huh, just when you think you can read someone…


End file.
